


rinse, repeat.

by lein



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lein/pseuds/lein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks, briefly, walking back to work the next week that the man who works at Brave Vesperia is fucking with him.</p>
<p>Penned into the side of his coffee, the abomination Flnyn reads clear. It’s not rushed, Flynn watched the guy grin at him when he mentioned that his name was, “Flynn with two n’s,” watched him carefully curl the y.</p>
<p>He vows to return to the coffee shop every Wednesday until it’s spelled the right way. After all there can only be so many ways to destroy his name before the guy has to, inevitably, spell it correctly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rinse, repeat.

**Author's Note:**

> allllright. so like tov is literally the only series i have written more than one complete story for so it holds a special place in my heart, it became the obvious choice when i decided (forced myself) to write for the tales of bb that was happening on tumblr. plus it was smth to help with my massive anxiety and inability to write more than 2k. idea came from a prompt on tumblr that i, sadly, did not save but it popped into my head when i tried to think of story ideas.
> 
> **[ now with accompanying art! ](http://flarebottle.tumblr.com/post/147826097564/taking-a-break-from-voltron-hell-to-resurface-for) **

There’s a cafe a few blocks from Flynn’s work that Estellise likes to get pastries at. 

The place is fairly new and already has a small following. Flynn’s heard great things about their coffee. 

It’s early afternoon on a Wednesday when he finally decides to use his lunch break to check it out. The building is small, squished between a quaint bookstore and a busy frozen yogurt chain. The sign above the door reads simply, ‘Brave Vesperia;’ there’s a small chalkboard with the daily specials written on it, a little drawing next to each one, that hangs in the front window. A few tables rest outside, decorated with purple and blue striped umbrellas and cute metal chairs.

The interior is bigger than what Flynn expects. It’s relaxing, the atmosphere, or it would be if not for the clutter of people chattering on about this and that, the line that edges from the register alongside the counter. It’s not too bad though, he’s seen worse and if there’s any validity to their reputation, Flynn’s sure the wait is worth it.

It takes a few minutes for the line to filter Flynn to the counter. He takes the time to look at the menu cleanly illustrated on the wall behind the counter. He can’t imagine he’s the only one who gets annoyed when customers make their way to the front of the line and have a five minute crisis deciding what to have only to hold up the line. 

The man at the front register is about the same height as him, long black hair and a friendly enough looking smile. His eyebrows are stiff like he’s been carefully forcing himself to remain positive. 

He asks for Flynn’s name, pens it quickly on a cup before handing it over to the woman next to him. Flynn shuffles out of line and to stand by an unoccupied table by the door. 

His order is called a few minutes later by a short teenager wearing the baggiest pants he’s seen. They’re cuffed and cleanly belted around the waist. Flynn thinks it’s kind of endearing. 

“You’re Finn, right?” he questions with a wide smile and Flynn nods.

It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, people mishear his name all the time. Flynn takes one look at the thin smile of the man at the register and decides that doesn’t blame the guy. Lunch rush is something Flynn wouldn’t wish on anyone. 

The teenager- Karol, his nametag reads- hands over a small bag and thanks him for coming to the small cafe. Flynn smiles back and leaves. 

The food is good, the coffee even better. Flynn decides to make a habit of going at least once a week and thinks to pinpoint the exact moment when lunch rush calms down. It’ll be a lot calmer, he concludes.

* * *

 

When he comes back the next week, about a hour later than before, the little cafe is a lot quieter and Flynn really prefers it this way. There’s a lovely quaintness to the whole place that he can now properly appreciate.

The man at the counter is the same, long black hair and a button down open just low enough to dip underneath his apron. A further glance shows he wears no nametag and Flynn wonders, briefly, if there’s a reason why. He’s arguing with a co-worker who appears to be a head smaller than him (or rather she’s complaining, rather loudly, about him while he plugs his ears and pretends not to hear).

Flynn takes his time considering the menu and only steps up to order once she’s retreated to the back in a loud huff. 

“Sorry about her,” the man says, smile verging on cocky. He looks a lot more relaxed than he was a week ago. “Rita likes to complain.”

“It’s alright,” Flynn answers and is surprised as how genuine it sounds. Usually, he’s a bit more annoyed by public disagreements but the man at the counter has a nice smile. It works well with the atmosphere of the small establishment. He orders without any mishaps and when the man asks his name he enunciates it as clearly as he can.

He watches the man lean halfway through the hole dividing the cafe from the kitchen, presumably to announce his order, and disappears behind the display to prepare his drink. Flynn resists the urge to make awkward small talk. It feels necessary in the quiet of the small building.

“So,” Flynn hears the man start. It’s a bit muffled but still audible as he rustles around for something underneath the counter. “How did you hear about our fine establishment?”

“A friend of mine really likes the pastries you guys sell. I’ve also heard a few people at work compliment the coffee here so I figured I’d try it.”

The man’s head pops up, he raises an eyebrow at Flynn before ducking back under the counter. “Oh? Where do you work?”

Flynn scuffs his shoes against the floor. “A shitty desk job currently. I’d quit but I don’t have any other options lined up right now so, unfortunately, I’m stuck for now.”

A hum. “Is this your first time here?” He stands and moves to the back counter to fidget with some machine Flynn is sure he’s never seen before.

He shakes his head before realizing that the man cannot see him. “Second, actually. I first came last week.”

The man reappears and slides his drink towards him, grabs his sandwich from the window and bags it carefully. “I assume,” he says with a smile. “That it was good enough to come back.”

Flynn nods, takes his order, and waves when the man throws a cheerful, “See you later.”

He doesn’t check the cup until he’s halfway down the road. Printed in black sharpie is the name  **Flyn** , and Flynn laughs because what are the odds of his name being spelt wrong twice.

* * *

 

He thinks, briefly, walking back to work the next week that the man who works at Brave Vesperia is fucking with him.

Penned into the side of his coffee, the abomination  **Flnyn** reads clear. It’s not rushed, Flynn watched the guy grin at him when he mentioned that his name was, “Flynn with two n’s,” watched him carefully curl the y.

Flynn feels something sour like rage build in the centre of his abdomen and squashes it down ruthlessly. He’s not the type to let something as simple as a cocky cafe employee ruin the rest of his day.

This time when he finishes his coffee, Flynn washes out his cup, grabs a pair of scissors off his desk, and carefully cuts the name out of the paper cup. 

* * *

 

Four weeks later the names  **Falynn** ,  **Flny** ,  **Fiynn** , and  **Phlynn** join a growing stack of annoyances. The first two mistakes, Finn and Flyn, he pens out on sticky notes. He writes the date on the back of all of them and places them inside a little box for safe keeping.

He vows to return to the coffee shop every Wednesday until it’s spelled the right way. After all there can only be so many ways to destroy his name before the guy has to, inevitably, spell it correctly.

The after week he finds the man slumped backwards over the counter. His arm is thrown haphazardly over his eyes. He looks exhausted.

“Retail,” he says to the ring of the door’s bell. “Is both a curse and a blessing.”

Flynn laughs, it echoes across the unusually empty cafe. The man doesn’t move, just smiles; it’s the only indication that he knows Flynn’s there.

“I’ve worked enough shitty retail jobs to know that’s true. I’ve also worked enough shitty retail jobs to know that complaining to customers probably isn’t the smartest choice,” Flynn watches the man flip to rest his cheek against folded arms as he says this. “It gives the impression that you don’t care about them.”

“I don’t. I’ve owned this business long enough to not care about what the customers think of me either. I like to think our products make up for the shitty hospitality I bring.” He retorts with a growing smile. 

It surprises Flynn, to hear that this man (who appears to be his age) actually owns this store. He knew it wasn’t a chain establishment but Flynn figured there was someone older, that the man at the counter was just a regular hire. He raises an eyebrow.

The man continues, waving his hand, “Basically everyone who works here has a hand in the place monetarily. Well, except for Karol and Rita, they’re both still in high school, but Karol was the one who pushed for it to become reality. I like to call him the big boss, it makes him feel superior.”

Flynn watches him grab a cup and slowly start to pen out something on the side with a thick sharpie.

“What fresh abomination are you going to write this time?”

The man’s grin widens, toothy. “I have done nothing wrong.” He walks to the window and places an order, continues, “In fact. I have never done anything wrong in my life. Ever.”

Flynn laughs, he can’t help it. “I suppose, we’re skipping the part where I order something and pretend it’s not the same thing as always.”

“Exactly. Now pay up,” the man says but he’s below the counter rummaging for something. Besides, Flynn has already slid his money, exact change, next to the register; he folds a ten up and places it in the tip jar while he watches the man duck behind the display.

“Will I ever catch your name?”

“Hmm…” His head pops out far enough for Flynn to catch the crinkle of his eyes. “And let the old harpies give complaints about me by name? Absolutely not. I catch the way they look at you, Flynn. You have a few admirers in the late afternoon crowd.”

“I would never use your name for evil,” Flynn blurts in response before he can catch himself.

The man laughs, loud and sudden, as he heads for the back counter. It’s a lovely sound, the sound, and Flynn decides he likes it.

“I have to be careful, y’know. Just earlier today, some guy didn’t specify what kind of milk he wanted, took the top off his drink, looked me dead in the eyes, and just. Poured the whole thing on the ground. During lunch rush, no less!” He throws his arms up in exasperation. “I wanted so badly to leap over the counter and choke him but I had to keep a  _ professional smile _ on because ‘ _ the customer is always right _ .’” 

Flynn watches the man’s hair swish back and forth across his shoulders as he talks and works. It reminds him of a pendulum. The man continues, his voice nearly hypnotizing coupled with the rocking of his hair, “Judy had to refund him, I had to clean the spill up but at least when that asshole goes to complain about me baselessly, he won’t have my name to do it with.”

“And you think I’m going to complain about you?”

The man places the drink down on the counter. Flynn turns it to find  **Fliynn** glaring back at him; the man is grinning over the line of the plastic top. 

“Why not,” the man drawls as he bags Flynn’s sandwich. “I’ve probably given you a few reasons to.” He offers the bag.

“Seven, so far.” Flynn takes it with a sigh, “I’m not going to complain but I am going to keep coming back until you spell my name right.”

Behind the counter, the man waves a hand and moves to place the money in the register. “Then I’ll just have to get creative. You’re my favourite customer, y’know.”

Flynn feels his face flush as he starts to leave. “I guess this means I’ll be back next Wednesday.”

“I guess that means I’ll be waiting.”

* * *

 

A month later, Flynn counts the total number of misspellings. It’s up to twelve when Estellise decides to join him for his late Wednesday lunch break. He can’t refuse her. Not Estellise, the daughter of the company president, and certainly not Estellise, his friend.

They spend the short walk over talking; it’s been a while since they’ve been able to catch up, just the two of them. It’s nice, relaxing. Flynn finds himself in a good mood when they turn onto the street the little cafe calls home. 

“Ah, Estelle! Nice to see you again,” the man at the counter grins. “And Flynn. My two favourite people!” 

Estellise’s eyes light up the minute she spots him. “Yuri!” she says as she runs up to greet him.

The man- Yuri, according to Estellise- is wearing a braid today, loose and thrown haphazardly over his left shoulder. It’s pretty, Flynn thinks, as Estellise wraps her arms around Yuri over the counter.

“Hi,” Flynn says with a small wave of his hand. “Yuri.”

Yuri grins wider and nearly threatens to lift Estellise over the counter. “I see you found the only person outside of the staff here who could blow my cover.”

Estellise pulls back from the embrace, smile wide. “I wasn’t aware the two of you knew each other,” she says.

Flynn points a thumb in Yuri’s direction. “This would be the nice man who insists on spelling my name wrong every week I come for lunch.”

“Only to keep my favourite customer around,” Yuri closes his eyes and lifts his hands in mock innocence. “I was pushed against my will to do it, I swear.”

Estellise giggles, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

Yuri grabs a cup and starts to pen light against the surface, carefully considering this week’s atrocity. “And how do you two know each other?”

“We work together,” Flynn says. “She’s a good friend of mine. I’m a little worried that she surrounds herself with troublemakers though.”

Yuri hums. “Troublemakers? Like me?”

“Only the finest.”

Yuri laughs, loud and throaty. He inevitably decides to add something to the cup and slides it down the counter behind the register so Flynn can’t see how ruined his name is. 

“Hey, Estelle. What can I get a fine princess like you?”

She giggles again, curling her fingers around the edge of her pink flowered blouse. “A hot chocolate and a small salad, please. Oh, and something from your lovely display case.” Estellise’s hand pats the top, demurely.

“Anything in particular?”

She shakes her head. “Surprise me.”

He salutes. 

Flynn insists on paying for both of them but Estellise waves him off with a small smile. Yuri grins from behind the counter and says, “I’ll let the two of you duke it out,” before starting on their orders. 

In the end, they decide both to pay for their own orders. Flynn feels a certain sense of duty for the outing but Estellise convinces him it’s alright. They walk back to work, slowly but surely making their way through the best cookies (rosewater, Yuri had said. Who makes  _ rosewater  _ cookies?) Flynn thinks he’s ever eaten.

His cup reads simply:  **Flyunn** . Underneath is, what he presumes to be, Yuri’s number with accompanied by the words ‘call me,’ and a rather mocking winking face.

* * *

 

Flynn texts Yuri Thursday night. It’s brief and he’s oddly nervous when he sends it but Yuri texts him back within the hour so it’s not long lived. They spend the night asking each other stupid questions. Flynn’s never been so excited to find out more about someone else.

At two am, Yuri asks Flynn if he’s free on Saturday and when the answer is yes, Yuri asks Flynn if he likes dogs. 

At two fifteen am, they agree to meet Saturday afternoon at the local park.

At three am, Flynn falls asleep, anxious and happy, with the balls of his hands pressed into his eyes.

* * *

 

Repede, Yuri’s dog, is big, Flynn finds out Saturday.

“Purebred German Shepherd,” Yuri tells him with his hands on his hips, voice full of pride. “Three years old, one eye.”

At his feet, Repede snuffles and starts forward to sniff at Flynn’s fingers. He licks them, on the knuckle, just once.

The park is huge, full of trees. They make it to a well-loved trail that spans the line of the pond. Repede takes off like a bullet the minute Yuri unclips his leash and tells him it’s alright. Yuri runs after him, all long legs and smiles, and that’s when Flynn notices. This is Yuri, all of Yuri, not just the cocky cafe owner. Not the Yuri hidden by counters and aprons, but Yuri the dog owner, Yuri the man who asked him out on a Saturday.

Flynn’s never seen his legs before, never seen a smile this wide, this genuine. It’s nice, it looks really nice on the man’s face with his hair blowing out behind him. 

Yuri laughs and arcs in a wide turn to face Flynn. He’s still moving but now his grinning face is facing Flynn. It’s wide with challenge.  “Gotta keep up, Flynn, or we’ll leave you behind!”

Flynn runs because that’s all he can do.

They slow the pace to a brisk jog about three quarters of the way into the first mile. Flynn’s legs are burning; he’s not out of shape exactly, but it’s been a while since he’s ran for endurance rather than speed. He feels giddy.

Repede barks every time they slow past what he deems acceptable and Yuri can’t stop laughing at him.

Flynn breathes heaving breaths after they finish the full three mile run. Yuri tips the contents of an entire water bottle over his head with a noise of triumph. 

* * *

“Your dog,” Flynn says through a mouthful of food, “is worse than a basic training instructor.”

They’re sitting on the pavement next to Yuri’s car, leaned into the red metal. Yuri bought them sandwiches for lunch and then decided to sit outside because he wanted to keep his dog company. They’re so close their shoulders are touching. It’s nice, Flynn likes it.

Yuri’s eyes crinkle as he watches Repede tear through the patties of three burgers like it’s nothing. “I forget other people aren’t used to the Saturday morning ritual.”

“Saturday morning hell, more like.”

Yuri laughs. “He’s got a lot of energy. It’s either this or the dog park and catch for  _ hours _ . Plus it gets us out of the house, I’d go crazy if I didn’t do something outside of that cafe.”

Flynn hums and downs his second bottle of water. “Repede’s a good dog,” he says when he finishes. “I just think I need more practice.”

Repede, finished with his treat, licks at Flynn’s face before settling down against their feet.

“Well,” Yuri says. “Repede says that you’re welcome to join us for Saturday morning bootcamp whenever you’re free.”

Flynn looks down at the dog sprawled out on the shaded pavement and rubs his belly. Repede lifts his front paw to hook it around Flynn’s arm. “He does? Well, that’s awful kind of him.” He pauses before continuing, “And what would his owner think? Am I allowed to encroach on your Saturdays?”

“Hmm. Yeah, but next time you have to buy lunch. I promise I’ll try my best not to be an expensive date,” and then Yuri leans over to scratch Repede’s hip.

Flynn finds himself laughing at the simplicity of it. Yuri looks at him and grins, eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, sorry,” he finds himself saying in between laughs. “I was just so mad when I figured out you were fucking with me and, now, here we are, on a date. It just seems so absurd looking back.”

“I had to, you looked so uptight and your tone was so pretentious when you told me that your name was  _ ‘Flynn with two n’s _ . _ ’ _ And then I kept going because the look on your face whenever you turned the cup was really close to the expression I imagine one would make if someone shit in your coffee.”

“Yuri,” Flynn says warningly. “That’s unsanitary.”

Yuri laughs.

“It made my Wednesday honestly. I’m only on counter duty once a week because of summer. It’s awful, I hate it. I started to look forward to seeing your uptight mug every afternoon.”

Flynn knocks into Yuri’s shoulder.

“I’m glad bothering me gives you so much joy.” Yuri laughs at this, Flynn continues, “I save them all y’know. I cut them out after I’ve rinsed the cups and write the date on the back of each one.”

“Why?”

“If you ever repeated one, I’d catch you in a heartbeat.” It sounds just threatening enough for Yuri to light up.

“Oh?” He says with a raised eyebrow. “And what would you do if I did?”

“Well, For starters, I’d have tell you to get more creative if you wanted to please me. It’d make it less of a challenge if you just stuck with one, I’d probably get annoyed enough to leave entirely or, at ”

“And when I run out?”

“If,” Flynn corrects absently. There’s no doubt that Yuri could torture him with misspelling after misspelling for years to come.

“If I run out?”

“Then I guess I’d have to come back to see the cute man who works the counter Wednesday afternoons in the summer,” he says and then pets Repede with more gusto. The dog catches his arm with his paw again and licks insistently at his wrist.

Flynn catches the curve of Yuri’s nose out of the corner of his eye and thinks that this could be easily become another weekly routine. 

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever write tov canon universe? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
